TEINAR > Wastelands

Silent Spectre [Rhi-Rhi!]

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Blue:
The sun had moved 45 degrees to the west.
The temperature had risen five degrees.
Since this one had first stopped moving here.
Here was…blank. There was one mangled thing in the distance…twenty feet from this one’s location. It was a tree.
There was one tree in this direction, it was dead and black.
This one wasn’t sure if there were others behind them - they had not turned back to look yet.
The land was rather flat here. But the haze blocked looking further out. This one wasn’t sure what the haze was. It reflected the light sometimes. It was thick and brownish.
The sun had moved two degrees to the west.

The figure had been standing in the midst of the barren wasteland for a few hours now, staring in the same direction all the while. Before that, they had been walking with dedicated steps in this direction, but then they had stopped without warning or reason. It was surprisingly hard to get an estimate on the figure’s age or even their gender, even if one was close enough to see the details of their features. Their white body suit had been dirtied around the feet and legs from walking along the poisonous soil, their hands suffering a similar stained fate. The dry, acrid air tugged at short rusty red and white hair, yet the figure only blinked ever so often - their deep red eyes seemed unperturbed by the dangerous atmosphere, though it could also have been due to their heavy-lidded half closed position.
Once, earlier on, a prowling predator with far too many teeth had slunk by. Interestingly enough, however, it had simply passed right by the humanoid after a brief sniff in their direction. Generally anything caught out in the open would find themselves on the menu, but the rule seemed not to apply to the strange figure staring off into space.

Rhi-Rhi:
Every so often, Cyrus just needed to get out.

It wasn't that things had even been quiet in the city; they hadn't. Between repairing the damage done in that big tremor, killing all the remaining nasties that had slithered their way in, and babysitting a motherfuckin' Pilot, Cyrus had his hands full. And it was for that reason that he just needed to get out.

Out into the Wastelands, where things were simple. Where it was just dirt and poison and beasties and killing shit. That was stuff he understood, stuff he could deal with, not trippy mindfuck Pilots with their psychic voodoo and politics and shit.

The air was calm, eerily still, but it could shift without warning. Cyrus didn't take chances; he was wearing a mask and protective gear--and lamenting the fact that he couldn't smoke with it on. Dust rose around his feet as he walked, a lance in hand and a gun holstered at his hip, though he doubted he'd need it. The thing he was tracking wouldn't go down with bullets; the bullets were for people, if he happened to run across any hostiles. Nah, this thing had to go down the good ol' fashioned way.

He'd seen some tracks and was now following them; this thing had to go. It had started getting too close to the settlement and he'd picked up hints that it was female and pregnant. Just what they needed--monster babies. Yeah, not happening on his watch.

He'd been following the thing for a while, even found some fresh dung proving it was close, when, as he climbed over a ridge, he saw it:

The creepiest motherfuckin' thing ever.

It was...a person.

A person with no protective gear. Dressed all in white. Just standing there.

And Cyrus's brain went straight to every creepy ghost and zombie story he'd ever heard. Which, out here? Miiiight not be that inaccurate. People could get infected with all sorts of nasty things. Rabies, radiation, fuck...maybe someone had finally created some zombie disease!

Cyrus came to a cautious stop, far enough away not to make out any specific features (probably didn't help he'd approached it from behind) but close enough to be heard if he shouted, which probably wasn't the most intelligent thing to do right then, but it was the first impulse that sprang to mind because there was no way in fuck he was going near that thing until he knew it wasn't a zombie or a ghost or a vampire or a mutated horror.

"Hey! You! Ya need help over there?"

Hopefully if it turned it wouldn't reveal a face full of teeth.

Blue:
The sun had moved five degrees to the west.
The temperature had dropped by one degree.
There was an other entity present.
This one felt them before they approached, felt the faint pressure of their mind. It was a human-type, not a creature-type.
Creature-types had a scratchy feeling, they were loud, they were instinct.
Human-types had a murmur, a suffocation, a sound through water.

This one was scared. A moment. Scared of the human-type.
So many murmurs. A wet blanket over the face. Distant sound amplified and muted. Too many scientists. Scientists. The ones who brought pain. The ones who brought screaming. The ones who brought cold and hot. The ones without a smell. This one’s head was splitting open. Skin splitting open. Bone shivering and splintering and screaming. It was red and it was white. There was blue, and then it was cold, and then it was hot. Everything was melting.

The words carried through the dry air, despite the regulator Cyrus was wearing to keep him safe. The figure heard him it would seem, for they turned quietly around to face him. No face full of teeth here - the only odd thing were the blue lines running down their cheeks from their eyes down their neck, like a circuit board. Seemingly tired crimson eyes stared unfocused at the man, perhaps seeing him, perhaps not.
“This one does not require help. This one is in no danger presently.”
Like the strange, lovely yet androgynous face and body, the figure’s voice was equally even pitched and impossible to peg one way or another.
“That one is in danger. That one should move. The one with the many other scratching instincts inside is close.”
Of course, it was highly improbable that Cyrus would have any idea what in the hell Sixten was saying, and the warning was likely completely lost on him.

At least until the rumbling snarl of something large and unhappy unfurled behind him a moment later.

Rhi-Rhi:
Oh thank whatever old dudes and broads in the sky were watching out for him that day, that person was a person. At least, they (she? It was hard to tell from this distance, but she was tiny and looked like a 'she' so he'd go with 'she') looked like a person and had no monstrous teeth or deformities that he could spot. Still bloody fucking brainless to be out here with no protection just standing around like that, but it would be like a woman to do something stupid like that for gods knew why.

Though she might be ill; she didn't look so good, face sleepy with those damned weird markings, like nothing he'd ever seen before. Might be a refugee, might be lost, and certainly needed help, regardless of her response. Cyrus rolled his eyes at her words. Fucking brainless.

Or mental. This one, that one, scratching things...he wasn't even gonna ask.

Shaking his head, he took a step toward her. "Riiight, yeah. I'll get right on tha--"

A rumbling, vibrating snarl cut him off and he felt a puff of hot, rancid air hit his back, then another. Three guesses as to what that was!

Fuck my life.

He spun just as the creature charged him, lance extended and feet braced, but the creature was smart. Rather than spear itself, it leaped aside, surprisingly agile, and snapped at the pole with jaws that sported multiple rows of jagged, shark-like teeth. He tried to move, tried to angle it so it missed and got a lance jammed in its mouth and down the back of its throat, but it was quicker; its teeth grabbed hold and, with a rippling roar that sprayed thick saliva in Cyrus's face, it started to wildly thrash its head back and forth like a dog shaking a toy. Which wasn't far from how it felt; the thing was huge, at least the size of a small elephant, with bulky muscles, far too many bulging eyes, and long, knife-like claws that raked the earth and the air as it tried to get at its human prey.

It was all Cyrus could do to hang on.

Blue:
Flat crimson eyes watched as the human-type was attacked by the creature-type. This one had warned the human-type, but the human-type was not very fast. Creature-types usually were much faster, like the loud thoughts that scratched and scrabbled in the air.
The one with many scratchings on the inside was very angry, it wanted to kill the human-type, to eat it and feed all the scratchings inside.
The human-type’s thoughts sloshed around, just like his body was being shaken. It was so hard to understand them, everything so muffled and humid, like too many worms together all tied together never one making it up to the surface. The creature-types were much more loud and clear and this one never had any problem understanding.

“That one has many others scratching inside. That one does not like human-type, that one wishes to eat human-type and feed the others.”
Sixten finally moved forward, taking calm and steady steps toward the battle raging between the weaker human and stronger beast. There was no inflection on their face, no emotion, just a calm observation of things going on outside of itself.
“The creature-types are the ones that live out in the blank land. Human-types come up from the holes. That one should have stayed in the hole and stayed safe.”
The screaming of the beasts’ instinctual thoughts reverberated around inside Sixten’s head. It was so much rage and frothing and a need to tear and shred with teeth and claws, to feel the warmth of the blood and the squish of the meat and the crunch of the bones. Sixten was so near that they could all but feel it, taste it, experience it in their own mind from the intensity of the mutated creature’s desires.

This one had a broken understanding that it too was a human-type. They sometimes wondered if their thoughts were also heavy and wet and distant…but then, who else but themselves could understand such things? They could not hear their own thoughts, and so they did not know what they were like. But the human-type struggling and breathing hard and fighting for everything that he was had fallen back into that creature-type place.
The loud instinct, the scrabbling noise, the simplicity of understanding.
Sixten tilted their head, understanding the human-type finally, and then simply looked at the beast now shoving Cyrus’s poorly equipped human body back.
All Sixten had to do was the same as the creature-type - think loud and hard at one basic thing.
Run.

The creature suddenly broke off the attack, wheeled about on it’s clawed hind feet, and tore off into the distance like a bat out of hell. It did not look back or pause even once, until eventually it disappeared into the hazy horizon.
Sixten blinked blankly then at the man, momentarily distracted by a particle of dust that was swimming around in front of their vision.
They simply stood there silently for a moment, unfocused, before seeming to come back to themselves.
“That one is no longer in danger.”

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